


I'm Not The Man They Think I Am At Home

by irlenolacroix



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: 1970s, AWOOGA, College, Coming of Age, Drug Use, Gen, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, LSD, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Trippy, acid trip, basically boris is in college and he drops acid with his roommate, f slur used, mouth horror, teeth horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlenolacroix/pseuds/irlenolacroix
Summary: The United States had been kind to Boris so far, but then again, he couldn’t ever be sure what kindness truly was. So far he’d been punched exactly zero times in his three years here, even when the guys he hung around with got a bit rowdy. They’d call him a sissy or say he was too sensitive or mock his girlish hairstyle, but they never hit him, so Boris liked them. It was all in good fun, anyways. They bought him food when he didn’t have money and said he was a better drinker than any of them, so they must have loved him, at least more than anyone back in Russia had.***Boris Habit is in his third year of dental school. He's studious, he's scarred from his past, he might be gay, and he's ready for an escape. Any kind of escape will do at this point. His roommate might be able to provide some semblance of that, if only for one night.(Contains drug use, hallucinations, usage of the f-slur, and mouth / tooth horror.)
Relationships: Dr. Boris Habit & Original Character(s), Kamal Bora/Dr. Boris Habit (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	I'm Not The Man They Think I Am At Home

The United States had been kind to Boris so far, but then again, he couldn’t ever be sure what kindness truly was. So far he’d been punched exactly zero times in his three years here, even when the guys he hung around with got a bit rowdy. They’d call him a sissy or say he was too sensitive or mock his girlish hairstyle, but they never hit him, so Boris liked them. It was all in good fun, anyways. They bought him food when he didn’t have money and said he was a better drinker than any of them, so they must have loved him, at least more than anyone back in Russia had.

They were all there for the same reason. Their parents wanted their sons to be dentists, so they were all studying away at a subject they had no interest in as an excuse to drink like monsters and brag about how many girls they’d shagged. Boris was sure he had a lot in common with them. Except for the girls. He liked girls, thought they were nice enough, but he never wanted to kiss one. His friends called him a fag sometimes, and Boris was sure they were right, but it was easier to laugh it off than to think too hard about it. He didn’t like to think too hard about how he felt when he saw Kamal, a guy a couple years below him whose dark eyes were so pretty that Boris sometimes couldn’t focus in class because he was trying to catch a glimpse of them. He’d only spoken to Kamal once or twice, and Kamal seemed like he wanted to get closer, but Boris wasn’t ready for that yet. Spending time with Kamal meant spending time with his thoughts about Kamal. So he didn’t think about it, and he laughed with the guys when they talked about their exploits.

Boris’s roommate Eric wasn’t as excitable as Boris’s other friends. He was a soft-spoken psychology major who only ever brought his girlfriend back to the room, and Boris liked his girlfriend, so he didn’t mind going to study in the library for a bit while she and Eric spent time together. (Boris knew they were having sex, but Eric never phrased it that way, so he didn’t push.)

When Eric’s girlfriend wasn’t around, he and Boris usually both kept to themselves. Sometimes they’d chat, though. Eric didn’t know why Boris was missing teeth, but from the way Boris described his dad, he was sure Eric had an idea. Eric never asked. Boris was thankful for that. He never asked Eric about the scar on his right forearm, a gesture of thanks that he hoped Eric appreciated.

It was late at night on a February Tuesday when Eric turned away from his desk and looked at Boris, who was poring over dentistry books in his bed. “You study too much, man.”

Boris hummed. “You’re studying too.”

“Yeah, but I know how to take breaks.” Eric leaned back in his seat. “You just work your brain down to the bone.”

“Brains don’t have bones.”

Eric huffed, but didn’t push it. “Can I put a record on?”

Boris shrugged. “If you want.”

“Is it gonna bother you?”

“No.”

Eric got up and shuffled through his vinyls before picking one out and putting it on his record player. Elton John’s voice came once Eric was done fiddling with the needle. Boris liked Elton John. Sometimes he heard him on the radio. There were rumors that he was a fag too, but folks tried not to pay too much mind to it, so Boris tried to do the same.

“Hey, look up.”

Boris looked up. Eric was fishing through a desk drawer for something and moments later produced a small white envelope. He opened the envelope with a quick tear and turned it over. Two tiny pieces of paper fluttered into his hand. He grinned and put the envelope on his desk, then held one of the little pieces of paper out to Boris. “Here.”

Boris stared at the tiny piece of paper. It had a heart stamped on it. “What is it?”

“It’s acid, man. You put it on your tongue.”

Boris’s gaze darted back up to Eric. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, lighten up, dude. You’ve gotta learn to relax somehow.”

“We’re going to get in trouble.”

“So you’ll drink with the other guys but you get all wishy-washy about dropping acid with me?” Eric raised his eyebrows, but he took the piece of paper back. “If you don’t want it, that’s more for me, I guess.”

Boris hesitated for a moment. “I mean… I didn’t say I didn’t  _ want _ it,” he mumbled. “I’m just… I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Eric grinned slightly, then handed the piece of paper with the heart on it back to Boris, who took it cautiously. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll protect you.”

Boris was embarrassed to think about how his heart fluttered. Not in the same way it fluttered when Kamal was nearby, just a recognition of being protected. He gave Eric a soft smile of acceptance.

“All right,” Eric said. He took his own piece of paper and held it to his mouth. His had a smiley face on it. “On three?”

Boris knew he could have said no. He didn’t want to, though. Something inside him needed to break free. He nodded.

“Groovy.” Eric opened his mouth. “One, two, three.”

Boris placed the piece of paper on his tongue. It didn’t taste like much of anything, which surprised him. He’d expected it to be acidic, like a sour lemon, but there was nothing except the brief texture of dissolving paper. Then quiet.

“Now we wait,” Eric said.

Boris went back to his book. Eric lay down on the floor, gazing at the carpet as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. After a while, maybe forty minutes, Boris said, “I don’t feel it.”

Eric hummed. “What do you feel, man?”

“I can’t feel anything.” The words on the paper were starting to swim together. “I can’t feel my hands.”

Somewhere far away, Boris heard Eric chuckle. “It’s hitting, dude. It’s hitting.”

Elton John’s voice was dark blue, the same color as Boris’s winter coat.

There was a mirror on the opposite wall from Boris’s bed. Boris didn’t remember how he got there, but now he was sitting in front of it. His hair seemed to be getting longer by the second, each curl multiplying into ten more and then another on top of it. He was already tall, over seven feet, but he felt like he was stretching out now. He was being pulled like a piece of taffy. His father pulled him sometimes, but this pulling didn’t end in a dislocated shoulder. He was just stretching, and he couldn’t find anything inside of him that was bothered by it.

“Wow,” he tried to say, but nothing came out. Upon opening his mouth, though, he became distinctly aware of the gaps between his teeth. He could almost see the blood dripping from them. Blood on the floor with teeth in the center had lived in his nightmares since he was a boy with a freshly broken jaw, but now he could only see the gaps. He saw what had been taken, and the dark blue of “Rocket Man” swam between each tooth, winding through like floss.

His teeth were growing back.

First one of his front teeth emerged. It pushed through the gums and righted itself among his other teeth, straight and white, almost too perfect. Then a bottom tooth, then a canine. They all came in slowly, like plants growing from the ground. Boris hung his jaw open and watched. If he closed his mouth before they were done, he knew they'd stop.

_ I’m not the man they think I am at home, oh no, no, no. _

It must have been hours before all his teeth came back. Decades, even. But something inside of him felt whole again, like he’d finally defeated his past. Nothing could hurt him now. He could bite now, and nothing would slip through the cracks. His father’s fists couldn’t get past his impenetrable lips, and he was safe.

“Eric,” Boris mumbled. “Look at my mouth. Look at it.”

Eric crawled over to Boris. He looked older now. He looked inside Boris’s mouth and he broke into a smile which was followed by giggles that shook his shoulders. “You’re weird, dude. You’re fuckin’ weird.”

Boris didn’t know what to say to that. He giggled back. It was the only thing he could think to do.

More teeth came in until he had two full rows like a shark. Each one sharpened itself until they could pierce flesh.

When Boris woke up the next morning his tongue would seek the gaps, and of course he would find them, for they were never really gone at all. But for now he was invincible. He was armed like a pack of wolves. 

Boris’s life floated far away, like the Earth from a space station, and he watched the carpet flow along his fingertips. It curled around his fingers like the petals on his Lily from a decade ago, and he sank his hand in deeper, hoping to pull out roots that were undamaged and ripe for replanting.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for class and just changed the names and some minor details to turn it in. y'all get the fanfic draft. disclaimer i have never done an acid in my life so i have no clue if this is even remotely accurate, i'm just basing this on all the rep i've seen in media and descriptions i've heard from others.
> 
> n e ways my tumblr is winemomparker !!! pls dont make fun of me for this fic hjfkhdfsjk. comments and kudos are much appreciated, i hope y'all have a good day <3


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